


Little Wolf

by campbellxliz



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Imagines, Little Romance, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, mostly - Freeform, the hound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campbellxliz/pseuds/campbellxliz
Summary: Let's face it: I love The Hound. I've been toying with this OC for a while. I have several strains of basically the same story with different OCs. I think this is the best. Genevieve may be Jon Snow's twin, but she's more like Arya than any of the Stark children. She knows what she wants and goes after it. Sandor/OCPSA: I like to write my stories in the form of short drabbles. Some stories have more fleshed out chapters. This is not one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

Genevieve noticed him long before she saw the little prince who was making eyes at her sister. He was impossible to miss with a helm like a mad dog that obscured his entire face. He could have been hideous for all she knew, but she had already made up her mind. "Him. I want him."

Jon and Theon both snorted where they stood behind the rest of the family. "At least you have a type."

"And what would that be?" she asked. Her late husband had been perfectly average before he met his untimely end and she moved back to Winterfell.

"Brute-ish," Sansa commented under her breath.

Genevieve shrugged, unable to argue. She was never attracted to her husband anyway- only to men at least twice her size.


	2. Chapter 2

Genevieve exited the hall to the cold outdoors while balancing three bowls of stew in one hand with the fourth in her other. Her boots crunched on the snow beneath her as she walked to the fire. "I bring food for the bastards," she declared and handed the bowl to her twin brother, Jon. "My Lord," she handed the next one to the Lannister dwarf.

"If I'm a bastard how can I be a Lord?" He pointed out, but accepted the food.

"If you'd rather I call you Tyrion, I have no qualms about that. Why is he so far from the fire?" Genevieve nodded towards the Hound who sat alone.

"Wouldn't you avoid flames if you had been burnt like that?" Tyrion posed.

"I was two years ago," Genevieve said. "It doesn't change the fact that fire keeps us warm."

Tyrion had not been expecting that, but recovered quickly with a new explanation. "Then I would presume that because you're an adult you were able to rationalize that fact. He was a child when he suffered the trauma."

Genevieve walked over and handed him the food. "Have you eaten?"

"No," he grunted. "Thanks."

Genevieve sat opposite him, saving the last bowl for herself. She began eating, worrying that if she looked up at him, he would assume she was staring at his scar.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked when she remained near him.

"That's what the furs are for, Clegane," she smirked.

He sneered at her. "Are all wolves such smart-asses?"

"I wouldn't know," Genevieve shrugged. "I'm a Snow." She loved her half-siblings, but remained bitter as the least wanted child. Not only was she a bastard, she was a woman and a broken one at that. When they found the direwolf pups, she didn't even get the runt because Jon had more of a claim than her.

"You're a little wolf," Sandor told her. He found her strange for dressing like a man and carrying a sword, but it did nothing to hide her beauty. Nor was she frightened of him. He quickly ended the conversation and dropped his gaze back to the bowl of food as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen.


	3. Chapter 3

Gullfaxi was the best horse Genevieve could have asked for and spent much of her time either grooming or riding him. With the King's party visiting, not all the horses could fit into the stable. She noticed one extraordinarily large, black horse that had been left outside. It was The Hound's- Stranger she believed it was called. When she finished brushing Gullfaxi, she chose to brush out Stranger's mane.

Sandor noticed the little wolf with Stranger and quickly moved to make sure his horse didn't decide to harm her as he has several stable boys in the past. As he drew near, he noticed that Stranger obediently allowed Genevieve to touch him. He placed a gentle hand on Stranger's muzzle, relieved he wouldn't be blamed for any injury. "You should be flattered. He doesn't let anyone near him."

"Really?" Genevieve asked although she already believed it; the horse was much like its master.

"Killed a stable boy or two with his kick," he explained. "But I'd be willing to bet he'd let you mount him- that would be a first."

Genevieve smiled, she had never heard so many words that didn't sound like grunts come from his mouth. "Do you think I could?"

Sandor nodded, enjoying her excitement.

Genevieve put down the brush and in a practiced motion, landed herself on the horse's back. It did not balk, but stomped his hooves impatiently. Sandor released his hold on Stranger and the horse remained well-behaved.

"It seems he has good taste in women," she smiled.

Sandor was unsure of how to respond. He had already taken a few steps to turn when she spoke.

"You're supposed to agree," she called after him.

"He does," Sandor grunted as he continued to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is that a good idea?" Sandor asked. It was not his place to keep Genevieve there, but he couldn't imagine Myrcella wandering about King's Landing alone.

"Going for a walk? I can defend myself," Genevieve said.

Sandor had forgotten that she wore a sword.

"If you're worried about my safety you can join me," Genevieve invited.

"I have to stay with the Prince," he shook his head as he nervously shifted his weight between feet, feeling foolish. He could kill a dozen men on his own, but trying to talk to a girl made him want to bury his head in the snow. He didn't understand how she could be so confident leaving the castle grounds by herself. The North was strange.

"You never heard what happened to me, did you?" Genevieve asked. "At least they stopped whispering about me behind my back."

"Whisper about what, little wolf?"

"I killed my husband," she said. "To say he was cruel would be an understatement. You know your face? Neck to hip all along my right side."

Sandor clenched his fist. It explained why she wasn't afraid of him, but he couldn't stand the thought of her suffering through that. There was only consolation in the knowledge that the man was already dead. "I hope his death was slow."

Genevieve shrugged. "I stabbed him in the chest over twenty times."

He wanted to tell her that if he was her husband he would never hurt her or let anyone else touch her, but he couldn't find the words. How do you tell that to a woman?

"So I'm going to go for a walk," she grinned at him, oblivious to his internal struggle.


	5. Chapter 5

"Little Wolf, get down from there," Sandor said as he looked up into the tree. "Your father is looking for you."

Genevieve sighed and moved down a level of branches. "How did you find me, then?"

"Apparently I know you better than your own family," he said.

Her heart surged, but her face fell. "I'm stuck."

Sandor roared with laughter. Genevieve was the most self-assured person he ever met- there seemed to be nothing she couldn't do, except climb down from trees. "Jump," he ordered. "I'll catch you."

"Promise?" Genevieve perched on the lowest branch, but it still seemed much higher than she had thought.

"I promise, Little Wolf."

Genevieve jumped and as promised Sandor caught her in his arms; bridal style. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him with their faces inches apart. Sandor, suddenly aware of the closeness set her down before he did something that cost him his head. "Your father's inside, Little Wolf."


	6. Chapter 6

She hated the city the moment she got there. It was loud, crowded, and dirty and now with the tournament, it was even louder and more unbearable. Just outside of the tourney grounds, there were tents for every odd knight that had showed up. All the grass was gone, leaving only mud. Angry, but curious, Genevieve tramped through the mud and watched all the squires running around like a chicken before it knows it's dead. She spotted Sandor without Joff for the first time since they arrived in King's Landing and hurried to capitalize on the opportunity. "Are you competing?" she asked.

"Not a knight," he reminded her.

"I didn't know you had to be," she admitted, unembarrassed.

"You've never been to a tourney?" Sandor found it hard to believe. Tournaments were used to celebrate any and everything, including nobles' name days.

"Lord Stark doesn't believe in them."

Sandor laughed. Eddard Stark was the strangest man. His laugh was full and loud and several people turned to look at them.

"What are you laughing about, Hound?" A man about a foot shorter than Sandor came up and clapped the Hound on the shoulder. The newcomer was ruggedly handsome; tan with blue eyes, shoulder length hair and stubble on his chin.

"Why in Seven Hells are you here, Henrik?" Sandor asked.

Henrik smiled, eyes glinting. "Now is that anyway to great your only friend?"

Now it was Genevieve's turn to laugh. "I didn't realize he had any friends at all."

"Ser Henrik Umber at your service," he bowed and kissed the top of her hand. "And you are?"

"Genevieve Snow."

Sandor pushed her away, out of Henrik's reach. "You should go find your seat. I'm sure your family is looking for you."

Henrik let Genevieve walk away, amused that the Hound would protect her. "The game is on."

"There is no game. Every woman wants you," Sandor pointed out. But he would never let Henrik take Genevieve from him. It was true somehow they had ended up friends despite Sandor never wanting one. And it was his luck that the one man he befriended was a notorious womanizer, but at least Henrik was honest about it and all the women he slept with consented.

Genevieve found herself smiling as she took a seat next to Arya, sandwiching the youngest sister between herself and Sansa. Sandor had been jealous of Henrik's flirtation.


	7. Chapter 7

The second day of the tournament was the final day of jousting. The tournament started with a brutal murder by the Mountain and it was looking to end the same way. Genevieve wasn't sure if she wanted to watch or shut her eyes. She compromised and almost missed the Knight of Flowers unseat Gregor Clegane. She cast a glance at Sandor, knowing that the brothers hated each other. She noticed that he was trying not to smile which in turn made her smile.

Sandor leapt forward onto the pitch and drew his sword. Shocked, Genevieve turned to face forward just in time to see Sandor raise his sword to Gregor's and save Loras's life. They exchanged blows for a whole minute before the King intervened.

"Enough!" he roared. "By order of your King; end this foolishness at once."

Genevieve watched in horror as Gregor swung, narrowly missing Sandor's head and only because Sandor knelt for King Robert as a proper knight would. She jumped up from her seat and ran so she didn't see Ser Loras declare Sandor the champion and raise his hand. She didn't see Sandor blush or realize the crowd was cheering for him.

Sandor didn't notice the crowd cheering either; he only watched Genevieve run from the crowd. He pulled his hand free and went after her. "Genevieve!" he barked, hoping she would stop.

She turned, waiting for him to catch up to her and then slapped him.

Sandor was taken aback. Most men were afraid to raise a hand to him, let alone a woman, nor did he understand what he had done wrong. "Genevieve."

"You ass! You nearly died!" she shouted at him. "He was an inch off from killing you."

"But he didn't," Sandor pointed out.

"But what if he had? Did you think about that? Did you think about me?" Genevieve didn't wait to hear his answer and Sandor didn't chase after her.

She was right; he hadn't thought about her. He promised himself would never make that mistake again.


	8. Chapter 8

"Thought I'd find you here." Sandor had made sure Joff was safe in the castle before leaving to visit the stables. "You still mad at me, Little Wolf?"

"No," Genevieve sighed and continued grooming her horse. "Will you tell me who hurt you? I heard it was your brother."

"We're not talking about this," he growled.

"I told you what happened to me," Genevieve protested. "And I am not interested in talking about what a nice day it is."

He sighed. She had him cornered- he knew it would be a bad idea to get attached. "Aye, it was my brother. I was little and he had this toy- a wooden solider," he explained. "I just wanted to play with it. He knocked me over and pressed my face into the fire. Later when people began asking what had happened to me, our father said it was an accident- that my bedding had caught fire."

Genevieve reached up to hold his face with the intention of kissing him.

Initially, he flinched back, but then let her gently touch his scar.

"I'd kill him for you," she said.

Before that moment, Sandor never understood why peasants married. Nobles did it for power, money, and land, but he never understood what anyone else had to gain from the arrangement. Now, he thought he Genevieve was reason enough.


End file.
